The Storm
by flowinthestream12
Summary: A wealthy family from Spain moves in to Murder House. Their beautiful 16 year old daughter, Maria-Elena, gets Tate & Violet's old bedroom. After meeting Maria-Elena face to face at a neighborhood gathering, Tate's hope that there could be love after Violet is renewed. Rated T right now for cursing.
1. Maria-Elena

Tate Langdon was an inch shy of being six feet tall. He had bright blond hair, bottomless dark eyes, porcelein skin, pale lips, and prominent bone structure. This was mostly due to how thin his face was. He had a rather sharp jaw line and hollow cheeks. This seventeen year old boy's life was cut short by the S.W.A.T. team's raining bullets in 1994. His spirit now haunts Murder House. One of the pitfalls of being undead was boredom.

Tate had driven all those he cared about away with his gruesome crimes. There had been rumors that a new family had, most unwisely, purchased the house in spite of its horrific history. Married parents with their infant son and teenage daughter were to move in any day now. Tate tore his stare from his bedroom, knowing that he needed to find a place to hide for the time being.

_Clack- clack-clack_!

Tate ducked back into the hall bathroom as soon as he heard the running footsteps and a girl about a head shorter than he was dashed past him. He may be a ghost, but, he was not invisible. Tate listened closely ... the girl was crying. That mess of thick, curly, dark hair did not belong to Violet nor did his glimpse of her olive skin. Tate peaked out of the doorway, glanced left and right, then tracked down the girl ... to his old bedroom.

Tate glanced over his shoulder as the deep voice of the man whom was probably her father yelled up the stairs, "You are a child under our roof! You have no say! You _will _be at the party, Maria-Elena!"

Her name certainly was prettier to Tate than Violet's, especially with how her father had rolled the 'r' in her name.

The girl, Maria-Elena, screamed back at him in rapid Spanish from within the bedroom, "_¡Yo no soy un niña! ¡Querría verle me hace voy_!"

She made to kick the door closed but Tate wedged his foot in. Maria-Elena simply grumbled through clenched teeth and Tate heard her flop down on the bed. Once she resumed crying, Tate chanced getting a full look at her. She was wearing the smallest pair of black shorts he had ever seen. Her long tan legs were completely revealed.

She was not thin but she was not fat either ... she had a very blessed figure. She had wide hips and her breasts were rather big but not porn-star looking. It all seemed natural, especially with how her breasts parted beneath her layered tank-tops what with her laying on her back. Her wild dark hair encircled her face cast in the sunlight raining in through the sheer curtains hiding the windows.

"_Woah_," Tate breathed when he at last saw her face.

She had large and heavily lashed dark eyes. Her brows were the same shade of brown as her hair and her lips were mauve. Her olive skin was blemish free. She was almost ... _perfect_. Except, Tate noticed that her nose had been broken.

Whether it was from a hit or from some sport, he was anxious to know. He yanked his head back when Maria-Elena suddenly sprung to her feet. If she was to be at this party, Tate would try to find a way to meet her officially. With his back flat against the wall in the hallway, he tried to clear his head. He had not felt this good since the first time he saw Violet ... the girl who would never forgive him.

* * *

**Christmas Eve Party**

Maria-Elena was wearing a fitted pale pink dress with a layered flounce on the right side which ran from her shoulder to the hem around the middle of her thigh. She was wearing warm burgundy tights and pale ink heels. Her long curly dark hair was hitched up on one side by a crimson clip. Her tawny skin glowed in the accented candlelight. Tate anxiously chewed his fingernails and fussed with his wavy blond hair.

The house was reeking with scented candles and the steam of the hot supper waiting in the dining room. He had decided to pretend to be a boy from the neighborhood. Tate tried to pin his arms at his sides in an attempt to not look like a nervous-wreck in case Maria-Elena glanced in his direction. He took a sip of his apple-cider and glanced up at the mistletoe dangling in the doorway. Maria-Elena was so beautiful, Tate felt in his heart that he could not insult her with the presumption that she'd want him to kiss her. When he had first talked with Violet, the lonely girl immediately soaked up his offer of friendship.

But, he had the feeling that Maria-Elena was all storm and no calm. All thoughts of Violet, the girl who had broken his heart, were lost the moment Maria-Elena and Tate's eyes locked onto each other. Brown to brown, they were like magnets. This was something Tate had not expected but had been hopelessly fantasizing of. She observed him for a few seconds more before her raspberry lips widened into a kind smile.

Tate was so dumbfounded, it was a wonder how he managed to keep a grip around his glass. He was vaguely aware of his left hand rising up and waving weakly in her direction. When she giggled, Tate's pale skin flushed and his hand dropped like a lead weight back into his corduroy pants pocket. Like a child, Tate stepped through the throng of neighbors and ran down to the basement.

"Shit!" Tate growled to himself. "Fucking shit!"


	2. In the Basement

Tate felt restless in his own skin now. He shouldn't have held such high hopes that he would immediately get a chance at a rebound and thoroughly regretted it now. Maria-Elena was beautiful but ... there was something missing. Her broken nose had been the window he was now peeking into, which even metaphorically felt wrong and dirty.

"What have you turned me into, Violet?" Tate growled to himself then he yelped when the door at the top of the wooden staircase opened.

He ducked into the unfinished room adjacent to the main area of the basement and held his breath ... even though he was dead. A set of footsteps soon muffled out by much heavier ones stomped down the stairs.

"Your mama thinks they're for _enfermedad_," said the deep voice Tate had heard yell at Maria-Elena the day before.

Tate heard a paper bag crinkle.

Maria-Elena scoffed, "For how long do you hope she'll believe that they're not birth contr-"

"Shh, _mi hermosa niña_," breathed her father. "Your mama is dying. I cannot keep ... the _others _around. It would not make sense."

"Neither would a healthy girl getting the flu so quickly," Maria-Elena said as Tate heard her begin to tap her foot. "I want this to stop now. I want life to be different. I am starting at new school. I want boyfriend."

Tate clenched his teeth and hissed to himself, "Sick bastard. That's your _daughter_! This is bullshit!"

Maria-Elena's father sighed, "You are so _muy bonita_ tonight. You are teasing me with that tight dress you have on."

"That is what you _wish _to see, father. All of this is what _you_ see. I _do not_ feel the same as you. I am growing up. You need to stop this. It's illegal in this country, too. I'll go to police"

The father clicked his tongue, "No-no-no, _no usted no es_. No one is to know but you and me."

Tate couldn't bear to hear anymore. He snatched up a stool that his brother had once had and threw it against the opposite wall, visualizing striking her father with it instead. The father and Maria-Elena both yelped with fright and ran up the stairs. After a few seconds passed, Tate decided that it was okay to step out of the room. He was out of the doorway when he froze ... Maria-Elena was sitting on the staircase, absentmindedly toying with the container of birth control pills her father had given her.

She rubbed beneath her eyes and ran her fingers through her glossy curls, "What is your name?"

She spoke in broken-English but it was very easy to understand. Tate found her accent beautiful whereas he used to find that kind of accent irritating back in high school.

Tate cleared his throat in an effort to help it sound more deep, "_Eh-hm_, I'm Tate. Tate Langdon. You're Maria-Elena. I live ... well, I _used_ to live _here_."

Clearly intent on avoiding the vile conversation she knew Tate had overheard, Maria-Elena continued, "Where now?"

"Still in the area," Tate smiled sheepishly. "Very close to here."

Maria-Elena ran her hand up and down her bare shin before stepping down to face him, "I hope I'll see you again soon." She noticed that Tate was glancing between her lips and her eyes, "I will say _gracias_, but, I won't say why. You already know why, that's why."

Tate's grin faltered, "_De_ _nada_."

That was about as far that_ his _Spanish dictionary extended.

Maria-Elena smiled, her broken nose dimpling in when she did, "Come. I can use more interruptions in the future. I'll need them."


	3. Secrets & Some Unexpected Things

Tate felt his stomach vanish when she so trustingly took his unoffered hand and led the way back up the rickety staircase. Perhaps Maria-Elena was not so different from Violet, whom opened up readily when he first spoke to her. They had discussed their shared habit of slicing their own wrists. Though Tate has been dead for eighteen years, he still bore the scars that were like relief carvings reminding him of just how fucked-up he was ... _is_.

"Mmm, Bayonne ham." Maria-Elena groaned with a hoarse kind of growl that made Tate smile.

Tate cleared his throat again as he followed her down the corridor to the dining room, hoping he could be heard over all the commotion, "Where are you guys from?" Maria-Elena glanced over her shoulder up at him with her brows raised. Tate scrambled to ask it more politely, "I mean, your accent - which I like, it's pretty - ... I figured -"

"It's okay, I'm only teasing." Maria-Elena giggled at Tate's pinking cheeks. "We are from the outskirts of Bilbao. It's a very busy city in Spain."

"Why did you move?" Tate tried to ask conversationally.

Maria-Elena glanced into the dining room and narrowly avoided being seen by her father, "My father's job brought us to America."

"Long way from home," Tate mused, eyeing the ham Maria-Elena had mentioned earlier.

Maria-Elena looked at her father from where she was partially hidden by the doorframe, "Not very different, unfortunately."

Tate chose a spot on the carpet to stare at, "Um, how about we -"

Maria-Elena squeezed his wrist before letting go, "Sit by me."

Tate hoped she did not see the dumbfounded look that overcame him at those three words. It was an elating feeling that a girl he liked was not afraid of him. In fact, she seemed to be personifying him as her protector since he had stopped her father in the basement. Tate ran his fingers through his shaggy blonde hair before he stepped into the dining room behind Maria-Elena. His dark blue cardigan was looser on him than it had been, as though he had grown thinner which hardly made sense since he's dead.

But, Maria-Elena's warm and welcoming kindness was reawakening his appetite now.

Tate pulled out the heavy dark wood chair for her and she grinned, "I believed chivalry was dead before this night."

Tate sank down into the chair next to her, "Well, that's ... sad. Isn't it?"

"I do not want to discuss things that are sad," she said a little waspishly, reaching for the bowl of potatoes.

She struggled for one second before Tate leapt in to set it between their plates. Maria-Elena served herself a generous amount. But, after splatting the same amount on Tate's plate she added one more spoonful. He nodded down at her and took a bite while she extended her long arms out for what remained of the ham.

"Eat, you're thin." Maria-Elena said which made Tate laugh.

"Thanks?" he chuckled before taking a bite.

Maria-Elena's raspberry lips made an O shape, "That's right. In this country skinniness is _celebrated_ -"

"I like curvier girls," Tate clarified, after which his cheeks grew red again.

Maria-Elena giggled, "You do, do you? That's good for an American boy."

"Maybe we're not so different?" Tate asked as he reached to stab a slice of ham for himself.

Maria-Elena watched him while he arranged the soaked ham on his plate and a small smile spread across her lips. She tucked the curtain of her thick curly hair that was separating her from Tate behind her ear. Her smile faltered when she noticed the scars on Tate's momentarily exposed wrist. They were deep, large, and pink against his snowy skin.

Maria-Elena glanced down at her lap, "Maybe."

Tate took a bite out of his ham, "Mmm, you have good taste in meat." Maria-Elena giggled again and he chuckled with her, "This is awesome."

She smiled dotingly up at him when he wasn't looking, "Are you going to my new school?"

Tate remembered bringing the rifle to that school, "Um, not anymore. I get homeschooled now."

It was second nature for him to lie. But, with Maria-Elena it felt worse. She was about to question him about it, he could sense it when he looked in her doe-like eyes. But, he was saved in the form of a little boy no older than two. He clung to Maria-Elena's arm with tears in his dark eyes. He looked so much like her ... perhaps a little _too _much. Tate glanced over at Maria-Elena's father while she consoled whom he _hoped_ was her brother.

"Juan, _es calcula para una siesta_?" she asked him as she lifted him onto her lap.

Tate forced himself to smile at the little boy about to throw a tantrum, "No-no-no, Me-Eh. No!"

The boy was old enough to talk. But, he seemed to be unable to say Maria-Elena's name. Tate's smile became real when the little boy called her 'Me-Eh'. Juan collapsed against the extra fabric decorating the right side of her dress and Maria-Elena held him there, patting his back.

"I'm sorry," she said to Tate. "I'll be right back. I'm putting him to bed."

Tate was left wondering just how fucked up Maria-Elena's family was. Her father sleeping with her was foul enough. Now, he had a nagging feeling that little Juan was more likely his _grand_son than his son.

* * *

Tate lingered in the living room, leaning on the mantle above the fireplace while Maria-Elena said 'goodbye' to the rest of the guests from the evening. It was bitingly nippy outside as it always became in December. Maria-Elena now had a cozy blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She looked over her shoulder at him after the last guest left. Tate nodded and walked over to her.

He stepped down from the threshold and turned to face her. They were almost eyelevel now.

Maria-Elena clutched the blanket beneath her chin, "You know of my ... 'situation'. I am with a bad man every day. I know a good man when I see one."

Tate grinned, "You have no idea how nice it is to hear that."

A lot of things happened at once after that. Maria-Elena was smiling, Tate was admiring her, and his right leg suddenly went limp. He staggered forward and found his lips on hers. He was about to pull away, but, her lips parted. She tasted like cherries. Tate chanced opening his eyes as she tilted her head with her lips still on his.

There was her father, just standing there and watching them. He was about as tall as Tate but he was built like an athlete. Tate wanted to know why her father would turn to his daughter when he was not an ugly man. Sure, his daughter was drop-dead gorgeous. But, the bastard could probably get a hooker for free. He had olive skin like hers but he had blond hair and bright green eyes.

Tate glared at him when their eyes met and he jeeringly smiled against Maria-Elena's lips.

All this happened in the span of less than a minute. Maria-Elena broke away first, "Meet me in the gazebo tomorrow at noon."

Tate glanced one more time at her father and said, "I'll be there. Goodnight, Maria-Elena."

He backed away from her with a smile on his face before turning away. Tate didn't open the iron gate till he heard her shut the door. He thought of the attic as he passed through the gate and found himself there a moment later. He rolled out his sleeping bag and squeezed himself inside. He had received it when he was a kid so he was now way too big to zip it closed

But, this was better than spending the night on cold wood. Tate cocooned himself in it and thought of Maria-Elena to forget all the pain for a little while.


	4. Intimacy Ignited

Tate anxiously stroked the newly painted seat inside the gazebo. Hayden McClaine's body was hidden somewhere near it. Luckily for Tate, her death was not by _his _hands. His step-father, Larry Harvey, was rotting in jail somewhere paying for his crimes. Tate, however, was living out an eternity of punishment.

His first love, Violet, would no longer speak to him after she found out what he did while he was alive. It didn't matter how different he was now and that he'd never do those things unless he felt he absolutely had to. What rules did he exactly have to follow since he was no longer alive? Did they apply to him here as well? Violet was gone. Tate was wearing his black and red striped sweater with corduroy pants and sneakers. Despite having eaten quite well the night before, and the fact that he was a ghost, he still looked very underweight. Just as Tate was worrying if Maria-Elena was not going to show up, his head jerked towards the house at the sound of the door creaking open and clicking shut.

"I thought you were gonna stand me up," Tate grinned at her.

Maria-Elena was wearing flare-legged jeans and a dirt-stained white hoodie with faux fur trim around its hood. She had that hood pulled over her head and her thick curly hair was like a pretty lion's mane encircling her Spanish face. Maria-Elena was wearing what looked like her father's rain boots, which sloshed through the melting snow. The sight of those boots made Tate's throat burn, thinking of his suspicions about her father. She was not wearing any make-up like she had the night before and her initial glow seemed to have faded a little overnight.

Maria-Elena yawned, "I saw you waiting through the window. I was feeding Juan his cereal but it was difficult. I kept hope that you'd not go home."

She stepped up the short flight of stairs and sank down beside him. Tate cleared his throat, "That was a great dinner last night."

Maria-Elena giggled quietly and then sighed, "I also liked the kiss, Tate. But, I don't want you to think the wrong impression of me. I'd like to know you better for next time."

Tate gulped at her last three words: _for next time_. She wanted to get to know him. He nodded, "Okay ... I think your, um, dad saw us ... you know, by the front door -"

"He did," Maria-Elena said quickly, scowling at the house. "He most certainly did."

Tate frowned down at her, "What happened? I know we barely know each other ... but, did your dad do something?"

Maria-Elena scoffed, "Just 'reminded' me that my heart will break if I just let it go. He says that he loves me ... Do you ever feel like there's a ball and chain clasped around your ankle?"

Tate smiled ruefully, thinking of how he could only leave this property on Halloween which was almost a year away, "More than you know."

"I wish my mum could see it," Maria-Elena folded her legs underneath her and rested her chin on her arm draped on the railing. "I feel like I'm screaming in that ridiculous house and all the ears are deaf."

Tate observed her. She had such a strong exterior and it was crashing down inside of her. Not unlike Violet, Maria-Elena would not admit when she needed help. Without thinking, he laid his rather large yet boney hand on her knee.

Maria-Elena sighed quietly and closed her eyes, "I miss my home, my friends ..."

Tate gulped, already worrying that she would leave this place and, by extension, him, "I know. Well, I can't exactly _relate _'cause I never had friends. Just my sister, really. But, she's ... not around anymore." Tate bit his lip, thinking of how his sister was free because she did not die on the Murder House property ... and how much he wished he had not run home after bringing that gun to his high school. "You're the only friend I have, really."

Maria-Elena opened her eyes and furrowed her brows, "How can that be? It's _selfish_ of you, really. You're a good guy, aren't you? I never expected to meet someone like you here. " Tate's pale cheeks flushed a faint shade of pink and she smiled, laying her hand on top of his on her knee, "Oh, well, more for me."

Tate's earnest dark eyes met hers, "Then I'll keep being selfish."

Maria-Elena giggled and stretched up. Tate felt like he was eight years old being kissed by his crush on the playground. Maria-Elena's lips, sticky with gloss, pressed to his protruding cheekbone. As they parted with their eyes on each other, Violet appeared standing on the grass at the far end of the backyard.

"No, he's not a good guy!" She shrieked before vanishing into thin air. "Leave her alone!"

Tate and Maria-Elena flinched at the scream and turned to look for who had shouted. He would recognize that voice anywhere. The memory of her yelling 'go away' at him still throbbed. He would never forget that night. Tate had not expected Violet to care enough to ruin this unexpected chance at happiness. This made his throat burn with indignation and his heart despair that he could never be with Violet again.

"Who the hell was that?" Maria-Elena laughed.

Tate realized that, because of Violet's alarm, his hand was now entwined in Maria-Elena's instinctively. He couldn't remember how that happened. He wondered if she had instigated it.

Tate rolled his eyes, "I don't know ... some jealous bitch."

Maria-Elena raised her eyebrows in interest, "Does she live in the neighborhood?"

Tate would never have believed that he would want to be away from Violet. But, now, she posed an even bigger threat in his desire for peace. He wondered when he would stop having to pay for his crimes. How could he show her that he was sorry.

Tate nodded, "Yeah, you'll probably meet her. She lived in your house before you moved here."

Maria-Elena grinned mischievously, "I love drama. This girl clearly never picked a row with a _Spaniard_."

Tate chuckled, "_Oh_, I'm scared."

Maria-Elena shoved his shoulder playfully, "You should be, Tate. I got that Spanish fire from my father."

Tate licked his lips and was silent for a few moments, "... that kiss."

"What about it?" Maria-Elena frowned uncertainly. "Did you not like it?"

Tate shook his head, "I was hoping -"

Maria-Elena rolled her eyes, glanced at the spot where Violet had vanished, and kissed Tate on his parted lips. Inside the house, Violet scowled at the pair under the gazebo as she approached Maria-Elena's father.

"Hello," she said politely.

The father spun around, "Who are you? How did you get in?"

Violet sat down in a chair, "I used to live here. My name is Violet."

The father bounced on his heels, "You need to leave."

"I want to talk to you about Tate Langdon," Violet batted her eyes up at the handsome Spanish man.

The father glanced once more at the sight of his daughter slobbering all over the neighborhood boy, "You have my attention, Violet."


	5. Exposed

Violet saw the maid, Moira, out of the corner of her eye and gave her a small smile before climbing up on one of the stools by the island in the middle of the kitchen.  
"What's your name?" she asked the man kindly.

She saw her mother, Vivien, join Moira in the hallway and pull her friend out of sight.

Maria-Elena's father cleared his throat, "Ambrosio Ramos ... you may call me Mr. Ramos."

"_Rah-mows_, got it. Sorry, can't roll an 'r' to save my life," Violet chuckled wryly and nodded. "I like the accent. The American one is so ugly-sounding."

Mr. Ramos glanced over his shoulder again and saw that Maria-Elena was now standing beneath the gazebo with the boy that had hair like a plate of spaghetti, "Do you live in the neighborhood?"

Violet rolled her eyes, "No time for that shit, _Mr. _Ramos. They'll come in any second and I'll have to be gone. Tate Langdon is not someone you want your daughter's first friend here to be. He was mine ... it didn't end well."

Mr. Ramos scowled at the tall, skinny, spaghetti-haired boy with black eyes, "What has the boy done?"

Violet looked at Tate then closed her eyes sadly, "Let's just say that his past is even more checkered than _yours_, Mr. Ramos."

Mr. Ramos furrowed his brows and turned to confront Violet but found that the girl had vanished into thin air. At that moment, Maria-Elena pushed open the door and strutted into the kitchen with Tate at her heels. Mr. Ramos and Tate's eyes met. The father did not give any indication of pleasantries.

Maria-Elena did not shrink away from her father which Tate had not been expecting. He was so sure that, after what he had overheard in the basement during the Christmas Eve party, she and her father's relationship was anything but platonic. Tate struggled to keep his contempt simmering below the surface.

He let out a low whistle and extended his hand for Mr. Ramos to shake, "_Feliz Navidad_, sir."

Maria-Elena giggled, "Very good, Tate."

Mr. Ramos took Tate's hand after a moment's hesitation, "_Usted, tambien_."

"That's as far as my Spanish goes," Tate showed Mr. Ramos his teeth in a forced smile. "Nice to meet you. I've heard so much."

Mr. Ramos sneered, "Is that so?"

"Maybe more than I should've," Tate teased threateningly, hidden with a broadening of his grin.

Maria-Elena tugged on the belt loop on Tate's pants, "Com'on, Tate. Let's go watch TV."

Tate felt Mr. Ramos constrict his boney knuckles painfully before letting him go. Tate followed Maria-Elena to the living room where the fireplace was ... but, she tugged him by his wrist towards the staircase instead.

"Where are we going?" Tate asked her with a nervous chuckle.

He hoped she had not yet noticed that he could hardly resist glancing at her ass. He had always found Violet to be too thin.

Maria-Elena whispered over her shoulder, "_Shh_, you'll see."

* * *

"This is certainly different," Tate scoffed playfully when he crossed the threshold into the bedroom that was now occupied by Maria-Elena.

She stood at the foot of her dark wood canopy bed and shook off her hooded jacket. Maria-Elena grinned to herself when Tate glanced away after seeing her breasts bounce and shake beneath her sweater.

"Do you not like it?" she asked him as she draped the jacket on the back of her swivel chair by her computer desk.

Tate's smile broadened, "It's a bit girly."

"It's a _girl's_ room now," she giggled up at him.

Tate scanned the rest of the room. The canopy bed was right where his had been over a decade ago. He remembered the rain of bullets pelting his chest, falling backwards onto the blankets, and sliding off onto the floor. That spot where he had died was now hidden beneath a maroon rug that matched the bedclothes.

"You like red," Tate remarked as he wandered around the room with Maria-Elena's eyes on him.

Maria-Elena combed her fingers through her wild curls, "It's like blood, I know. But, I find it beautiful."

"Me, too." Tate mused as he ran his fingers along the white nightstand beside her bed.

The two smiled and giggled nervously for a moment. Tate watched her cross the room to her computer. He stared at her ass while she bent over to access her computer. He recognized the music provider 'iTunes' from using Violet's laptop.

"Got any Kurt Cobain?" Tate asked hopefully.

Maria-Elena scoffed, "No. Remember what I said to you? It was last night, Tate. I don't like things that are sad." She picked a song and straightened up, while Tate composed himself before she'd turn to face him, as it started to play, "This is David Banner. I saw 'Footloose' and this song was stuck in my head forever." Tate cringed inwardly at the hip-hop song blasting from her speakers. Maria-Elena laughed openly at the fleeting doer expression on his face, "It's good to meet new people, Tate Langdon. They expose you to new things in return."

Maria-Elena suddenly leapt onto her bed and grinded against one of the wooden beams. Tate's jaw gaped open. She had such rhythm while she swayed her hips, her tawny skin flushed with color and life again, and that fire returned to her dark doe-like eyes. Maria-Elena undulated her stomach and played with her long hair while Tate watched.

In the living room below, Mr. Ramos scowled up at the ceiling, unable to block out the sound of his daughter slutting-it-up with the neighborhood boy. He hesitated and paced at the foot of the staircase, debating whether or not he should interrupt them.

Maria-Elena hoped down and skipped over to Tate, who was too stunned by her liveliness, "I'll free you."

It was ironic to Tate that, if what he suspected was true about Maria-Elena and Mr. Ramos, she pitied Tate. She promptly turned and pressed her back against Tate's broad chest. He gulped as she writhed her ass against his cock. Dr. Arden's medicine would come in handy at this moment. Tate struggled to control his impulse to throw the beauty onto her bed and ravage her. Instinctively, he placed his large, pale, and boney hands on her wide hips.

"You learn fast," Maria-Elena panted.

Tate hunched down and tried to keep up with her rhythm, "I've never done this before."

Maria-Elena suddenly got nervous when she felt his fingers getting closer and closer to digging beneath her sweater. She tried to calm herself down with a smile and reached up to stroke his jawline, "You've never been to a dance?"

Tate grinned as his fingers made contact with her warm skin, "It wasn't exactly my favorite ... _haunt_."

He then felt something strange ... a scar on her belly. Maria-Elena squirmed away right when the song ended. The silence in the room was so loud, Tate wondered if _that _would draw Mr. Ramos up here rather than the blasting stereo. She pulled her sweater down over her hips and crossed her arms.

Tate pursed his lips, dreading how she would react to what he was about to say, "Juan ... he's not your ... brother ... he's not, is he?"

Maria-Elena breathed deeply before looking up at him, "No, he's not."

Tate clenched his jaw, wanting to sever Mr. Ramos's cock now more than when he had overheard them in the basement, "I'm so sorry."

There it was. The truth. That had to be a scar from a C-Section ... and Juan was her son. Though she had not divulged the name of the father, Tate was willing to bet anything that it was Mr. Ramos. Maria-Elena backed away from him to sit at the foot of her bed.

Tate stuffed his hands into his pockets and only joined her when she patted a spot beside her for him to take a seat.

"Whatever you think you know, don't share it with anyone ... _please_." She implored of him.

"You can trust me, Maria-Elena." Tate took a chance and slipped a hand out of his pocket to hold her hand, remarking then at the stark difference in size and color, "Sorry for ruining your Christmas."

Maria-Elena glanced up and saw that he was not looking at her. She rested her head against his bicep, "_You_ didn't."


	6. Known & Unknown

Tate made himself Unknown as he descended the ornate staircase, just in case he ran into any of the current residents. It was long past midnight ... and much time had passed since he said 'goodbye' to Maria-Elena. If she saw him pacing around 'her' house, she would surely never want to spend time with him again. Tate narrowly avoided meeting eye contact with Violet by dodging into the elaborate kitchen. He sighed as he opened the fridge, whistling a tune under his breath, and fished out a yellow apple.

_Gluh, g-gluh, gluh. _

As Tate sank his teeth into the golden skin with a _crunch_ and the sweet juices poured into his mouth, he heard a peculiar gargling noise coming from the ceiling above. He glanced over his boney broad shoulders, his shaggy blond hair dancing around his black eyes, to see if the twins were trying to prank him. Tate climbed the staircase in search of the source of the sound. He paused outside Maria-Elena's bedroom ... the door was locked.

He could hear faint rustling noises from where he was standing.

_ Gluh, gluh, gluh. _

Tate walked to the opposite end of the corridor and saw that the guest bedroom's door was open ajar. He tentatively pushed it further and his dark eyes fell on a young woman lying in the bed ... she had to be Maria-Elena's mother. She had to be around the same age as her husband, but, whatever the disease was ... it had eaten away at her beauty. Her curly dark hair was dry and wiry. Her face was pale and sunken.

The only color there was bruises around her eyes, which had serious cataracts growing in her pupils. Tate hesitated by the door before approaching the woman. She was shivering with cold and her slackened jaw was allowing that _gluh-gluh-gluh_ sound to be overheard.

When Tate set his apple on her nightstand and bent down to tuck her in she flinched weakly away. He shushed her kindly, "Don't be scared. I'm not gonna hurt you, Mrs. Ramos."

He was almost certain that she could not see him, so, it was unnerving how she maintained eye contact with him. He was supposed to be Unknown at the moment. She only broke her blind stare when a yelp echoed down the corridor.

The mother rasped, "_My Maria-Elena ... don't touch my Maria-Elena_."

"I won't," Tate lied to keep her calm. "I mean, I won't hurt her."

He turned to leave, planning to pick the lock on Maria-Elena's bedroom door to check on her, when the mother coiled her wrinkly fingers around his boney wrist, "_Stop him_."

Tate saw that the line on the heart monitor was spiking more frequently and he knelt at her side, "Mrs. Ramos, I'm sorry you're dying ... and that you're in pain. But, I'll make you a promise ... when your time comes, I'll make sure that you don't get trapped in this house with the rest of us."

A tear dripped down to Mrs. Ramos's ear as she drifted off to sleep. Tate glanced at the heart monitor to make sure she had not died before he could at least try to save the poor woman from his fate. The peaks were becoming hills, but, there were no flat lines. She was okay ... for now. He tucked the blanket beneath her chin, covered her ears with her hair to keep her warm, and scooped up his apple before departing.

As Tate made his way back down the corridor, he made himself Known. He spotted his reflection in the windowpane above the large white and blue flower vase near Maria-Elena's bedroom window. His hollow face was contorted with fury. He could hear Mr. Ramos grunting from behind that bedroom door. Tate could not believe that he was rapping Maria-Elena mere feet from where Tate was standing.

He could not hear Maria-Elena. He guessed that she has long since stopped fighting against her father. Maybe it was to let her mother die in naivety of something she could not save her daughter from. Maybe it was so that they would not wake her son, Juan.

Violet approached him from behind, "Don't kill Mr. Ramos, Tate."

Tate scoffed wryly and growled without looking at her, "You think you know me so well."

He bounced the apple in his hand before pelting it with all his might at the giant flower vase. It shattered into dozens of sharp clay shards and the sound was almost like the gunshots he had fired in his high school all those years ago. That nightmare still haunted him. His yellow apple with a single bite in it rolled awkwardly among the broken shards. The blast was chorused by the shrieks of Maria-Elena and the cursing of her father.

Tate turned and saw that Violet had vanished. He heard the lock on Maria-Elena's door jingling and Tate made himself Unknown again even though every bone in his body wanted to take full credit for this interruption. Mr. Ramos staggered into the hallway in just his boxers, staring at the shattered vase, tall flowers, and water expanding on the wooden floors. He scowled down at the yellow apple straight through Tate, whom he could not see.

Maria-Elena came to the threshold of her bedroom and looked on as her father cursed in rapid Spanish about the mess Tate had made. He stomped down the corridor away from the broken vase, leaving his daughter alone, frightened, and ... _relieved_. Maria-Elena was wearing nothing but her underwear and a large t-shirt. She knelt down to pick up Tate's apple. Tate hovered behind her and watched her examine the apple.

He whispered in her ear, "This is the last time he'll ever violate you. I won't let it happen again. I'll protect you, Maria-Elena."

Though she could not hear him, Maria-Elena furrowed her brows ... possibly sensing that she was not alone. She glanced over her shoulder straight through Tate. Violet appeared in Maria-Elena's doorway, invisible to the living girl. Violet seemed to be feeling ... shocked. Shocked that Tate had controlled his impulse ... for _Maria-Elena_.

Tate grinned down at the living girl sadly, "You're never alone."


	7. Innocence Ruined

It has been a week since Tate talked to Maria-Elena. But, that didn't mean he has not _seen _her in that long. He frequently pressed his ear against her bedroom door at night, listening for any sign that her father was raping her. Tate played with her two year old son, Juan, almost every day. Children were much harder to hide from since they were more susceptible to the supernatural.

Maria-Elena was old enough to get her American drivers license and it sickened Tate to imagine her pregnant when she was fourteen. It took all his restraint, which was weak to begin with, to resist punishing her father. For now he'll just simmer in his fantasies which, no matter how brutal they evolved, barely satisfied him. Time ticked by agonizingly slow as Tate waited for Maria-Elena to return home from her first day at his old school. He was anxious to know if she found out about the kids he shot and that he was the ghost of that murderer a S.W.A.T. team took out.

Tate's long boney leg was jiggling impatiently beneath the kitchen table and his black eyes were fixed on the little clock hanging near the refrigerator. He chewed at his fingernails absentmindedly and did not flinch when Hayden McClaine and Ben Harmon joined him in the kitchen.

"You fucking _hung_ me from a fucking chandelier, Hayden!"

"And _you're_ such a saint! You just _stood _there and let that fucker beat me to death with a fucking _shovel_!" the college-slut argued back. "At least _you _got a proper fucking burial!"

Tate groaned and rested his forehead on the tabletop. Nothing held grudges longer than those who were dead.

"Thanks to you, I'll never see my son again!" Ben croaked.

Hayden scoffed, "'_Your_' son? It's _his_," she pointed her finger at Tate, "son!"

Tate lightly banged his forehead against the table, "My mom's got him now. He'll be fine, Mr. Harmon." Tate stood up from his chair and strode past the man, "_I_ turned out fine, didn't I?"

He sneered at Mr. Harmon's mortified expression while leaving the kitchen to find a quieter place.

"_Tate_?"

He halted and turned to see Maria-Elena standing in the front doorway, "_Ummm_ ... hi, what's up?"

Maria-Elena hitched her schoolbag higher on her shoulder while closing the door behind her, "Why are you in my house by yourself? Did you break in?"

Tate shook his head fervently as he closed the distance between them. Since her first exclamation had not been about the school shooting, he felt safe in assuming she was still in the dark about it.

It was too easy to act innocent, "No! No, no, no. The back door was unlocked. I saw you walking up the driveway so I-"

Maria-Elena smiled and giggled at his panicky expression, "Relax, Tate. It's good to see you."

Tate smiled with relief and followed her into the family room, "So, um, how was your first day? Missing Spain more?"

She scoffed, "I'm just glad I don't have to wear a uniform here. It inhibits expression, no? The people here are in such a hurry to grow up." She sank onto the couch and patted it to invite Tate to sit with her. "Smoking, drinking, getting high. Wait till they figure out it's not such a great thing."

He guessed that she was referring to her incestuous teenage motherhood.

Tate joined her on the couch, "I'm sorry."

Maria-Elena sighed, "So, how was your first day, _señor_ Langdon?"

Tate chuckled, "Well, I'm _homeschooled_, so, my first day was before yours." She raised her brows so he added, "School is school. Nothing major to report."

She grinned, "Oh! I need to go check on Juan. He went to daycare today and he was scared of it. I need to make sure he's okay." Tate knew her son was fine but he kept his mouth shut about having played with her son not long before she came home. Maria-Elena got to her feet, "I'll be back in a few."


	8. Angel Oscura

"I may be looking at my soul," Maria-Elena mused darkly to Tate from the guestroom threshold, looking at her dying mother.

Tate frowned down at her, "How's that?"

"She's broken and bruised," Maria-Elena breathed.

Tate ran his large boney fingers through her raven curls, "That's not what I see."

Maria-Elena turned on him, "Then you are as blind as she!"

The frail little woman's eyes widened a little, the only indication that she recognized her daughter's voice. Maria-Elena scoffed and strode to her mother's bedside, leaving Tate to look on from the corridor.

"Listen, my mama. I'm going to destroy the fantasy-world you reside now." Maria-Elena loomed over her mother's terrified eyes. The teenager felt conflicted with abandonment and love over her mother. But, animosity was all that shone in her beautiful dark eyes, "I envy you, mama. I am dying inside, too. But, _I _have to hide it when all I want to do is lay down and die.

"Look at you, letting yourself go. Maybe I am stronger that I think I am because I _can _put on a show. Papa will fuck me tonight ... don't act like you don't know Juan is both his son ... and his _grand_son. Come on, mama, _think_. I know I got my intelligence from one of you and it certainly wasn't from _him_. He is thriving in your weakness, mama."

Maria-Elena's voice choked as she started to cry, "Why didn't you do something when you could, mama? Why didn't you save me? How can you just lay there and let it happen? I love you, mama!" She pressed her lips to her mother's wrinkled forehead, "¿_No me adora_?"

Tate rested his forehead on the doorframe after he made eye contact with Mrs. Ramos. There was a pleading look in those murky blue swirls blinding her. Maria-Elena ran passed him and shut herself in her room. Tate could hear her crying from down the hall. He looked at Mrs. Ramos and saw a tears dripping down her sunken cheeks.

He was a thin tall boy, but, his footsteps still _thudded _as he strode to the bed. Mrs. Ramos immediately grabbed his boney wrist, "¿_Angel oscura_?"

Tate stroked her boney knuckles with his free fingers, "Is it your time?" He glanced at the heart monitor ... her pulse was weak, "It's ok, Mrs. Ramos. I'll protect Maria-Elena. You don't have to worry anymore. Do you want to be free now?"

The woman smiled weakly and reached out to cup Tate's hollow cheek with her other hand. Mrs. Ramos pursed her lips ... her grip slackened on Tate's wrist as the heart monitor suddenly started beeping rapidly. She was having a heart attack. Tate feverishly took out the needles and wires all around her and scooped her into his arms. Tate peaked down the hallway and saw that it was empty before running to the stairs. He saw that Mr. Ramos was asleep on the couch with the TV still on. The explosions and gunfire from the show he had been watching were like a lullaby to the evil father sleeping soundly on the sofa. Tate fumbled with the door while looking at Mrs. Ramos struggling to breath in his strong embrace.

"Just a little further," Tate encouraged her in a whisper as he got the door open and they were overwhelmed by the bone-chilling cold outside. "Just hold on a second longer."

Tate dashed through the frozen grass crunching beneath his feet and wrenched open the iron gate. Mrs. Ramos's breath was started to slow and he shook her awake, "This is where you must crawl away. Can you do that? I can't carry you any further. I am cursed, Mrs. Ramos. You have to do this. If you don't, you'll be stuck here, bound my regrets and unfinished business."

Mrs. Ramos stopped breathing. Tate shook his head and hesitated before throwing the woman as far as he could. To his relief, she landed on the other side of the road in the grass. He glanced around him, looking for her ghost in case he was too late.

"_My angel oscura_," he heard her whisper from across the street.

Tate sank down to the ground, "_Adios_, Mrs. Ramos. "

Mrs. Ramos breathed her last in the cold grass, which was warmer than she had ever been inside Murder House.

"That's going to be tough to explain to your _new_ girlfriend," Violet said from behind Tate. "Maria-Elena was quite a bitch, saying those things to her 'mama'."

"Takes a bitch to spot one," Tate glared up at his ex and heaved himself to his feet, towering over her, "I don't care what you think of me anymore, Violet. I don't regret what I did for Mrs. Ramos. She's free, don't you get it? Isn't that a _nice_ thing to do?"

Violet stepped closer to him, "She called you her 'dark angel'. Well, she got the 'dark' part right. You have to do a lot more than help one woman's soul to clean up your past, Tate Langdon."


End file.
